


Calm

by Fierceawakening



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Bloodplay, Gore, M/M, Spark Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-06 01:56:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1840066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fierceawakening/pseuds/Fierceawakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aftercare fic requested by one of my followers. Is "gore fluff" a thing? Because I think I just made it a thing. Megatron tending to Starscream after some particularly intense, violent beatings/sex/whatever the hell it is these two do with one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littlemisssexkitty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlemisssexkitty/gifts).



> It's Megastar. It's gory Megastar, which bothers some people. It's cute Megastar, which bothers some other people, in an interesting little Venn diagram the overlap of which I have still not precisely determined.
> 
> As always, emergency exits are located at the top of your browser window in the form of an arrow and a little X.
> 
> Thanks to [TFPaddict](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TFPaddict/pseuds/TFPaddict) for beta reading.

Megatron's frame rumbled in a low purr. A smaller mech curled against his chest, his optics narrowed and flickering as he shifted against the warm metal of Megatron’s plating.

The ghost of a grin curled Megatron's lip plates as Starscream burrowed closer. He wrapped an arm around Starscream's back and idly stroked the space between the Seeker's wings.

It was the only place on Starscream's frame he hadn't damaged. Touching anything else would hurt.

And as pleasant as it might be to hurt him, the time for that was over now.

Deep scratches dotted Starscream's chest and wings, smeared with the blue of energon that still dripped from the wounds. His wings were dented, the pattern of Megatron's grip crushed into the metal.

His valve cover was gone, wrenched off by Megatron's hands and tossed aside somewhere on the floor below their berth. The open valve yawned obscenely, stretched wide by Megatron's spike, its rim dented and torn. A mix of Megatron's transfluid and Starscream's lubricant, glowing faintly with the tinge of Starscream's energon, dripped out of it onto the Seeker's slender thighs.

Which also bore the marks of Megatron's claws. They had done everything.

 _Or almost everything_ , Megatron reflected as a shudder wracked the slender mech pressed against him. There was only so much one mech could endure. especially a mech as slight as Starscream, no matter how accustomed to violence Starscream had become after millennia at Megatron's side and in his berth.

"You're a mess," the warlord growled.

Starscream tilted his head to peer up at Megatron, his optics fiery slits. "Don't tell me you're complaining," he murmured, his voice lazy with satiation.

Megatron's spike, already tucked away behind its cover, stirred in response to Starscream's words. But it would take a good long while for it to be ready for more of this.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, pushing the slender mech off of him with exaggerated gentleness.

Starscream whimpered, a staticky, high sound, as Megatron disentangled himself.

"Fine," Starscream hissed, glowering as he turned onto his front. The warlord's claws had left a deep cut in his chest plating, and he settled onto the berth gingerly, offering up his back and wings to Megatron's ministrations.

Megatron ignored him, turning to the nightstand beside the berth. On it lay small bowl of water, a bottle of cleansing solvent, a tube of nanite-rich gel, and a few soft cloths, bleached a bright white rarely seen on the Nemesis.

Megatron huffed. Cloth was plentiful here, woven from some kind of organic matter found in endless abundance on planets like Earth. Finding large enough pieces of it for Cybertronians was difficult, true, but it wasn’t hard to obtain.

But back home on Cybertron, a world of metal and machines, organic cloth was a luxury only the most wealthy and sybaritic would bother to import. Fine metallic mesh would suffice perfectly well for cleaning a few wounds.

Out of the corner of his optic he saw a shifting gleam of silver as Starscream stirred, flicking injured wings as he waited. Shaking his head, Megatron opened the bottle and spilled a dash of the liquid into the water. A cloud of fluorescent color blossomed in the bowl, spreading outward, tinting the water a chemical yellow. Then he moistened the cloth, dipping it into the mixture.

Starscream murmured as Megatron moved to lean over him again, favoring the warlord with a slight smirk as he tilted his head to look up at his master.

"Be still," Megatron ordered.

Starscream stretched lazily, canting his hips and twitching his damaged and bleeding wings. Then he winced, hissing in pain. With a pout of defeat, he splayed out his wings so that Megatron could better reach his wounds and forced himself to lie still.

"That's better," Megatron murmured, reaching down to touch the moistened cloth to a streak of energon left by one of the gouges his claws had rent.

It was almost disappointing, wiping away the evidence of where he had been. But when he moved the cloth to clean the wound, Starscream gave a yelp, stung by the caustic cleanser. His frame shook, a twitching echo of the writhing he'd done earlier under Megatron's hands.

"Ah --!" he hissed. "It stings!"

Megatron smirked.

"You did that on purpose!"

"Settle down, Starscream."

The Seeker lapsed into silence again, a seething hiss coming from his vents.

Megatron cleaned the wound with slow precision, heat crackling through his circuits as Starscream twitched. Energon glowed bright blue against the pale fabric, and he dipped it back into the solution to clean it and brought it back to Starscream’s wing.

He drew it down slowly, moving with the attentive grace of satiation. Their coupling had been violent and frenzied, claws ripping at plating and digging hard into seams. This was sensual, the sting of the cleanser on the open wounds half painful and half-soothing.

Whatever protest he had intended, Starscream did settle down, his twitching mellowing to a slow, rolling squirm as weariness and satiation won out. His wings flattened, and he let Megatron work, his frame vibrating and warm.

Megatron’s frame gave an answering purr of its own as he stared down at his handiwork. Starscream’s silver-gray plating was dark with the dirt of this planet; the cuts that Megatron had left, in contrast, shone bright silver now that they had been cleaned, glowing beads of energon still welling up from the deepest of them.

Starscream was not looking at him, his head cradled on his arms and tilted to one side. His optics were open, but just barely, slits of red glittering bright with suspicion.

His systems were no doubt overwhelmed from overload and pain and damage and overload again. Megatron watched the lidded optics flicker as Starscream lost himself to some half-dream.

He opened the tube of nanite gel, squeezing some of it onto his fingers. The black paste was thick and heavy, made to pack tight into deep wounds. Nanites glittered within it, silvery and shining, and Megatron slid his coated fingertips over the deepest scratches on Starscream’s wings.

Starscream murmured at his touch, his cooling fans whirring, and it was all Megatron could do not to curl his claws and start everything over again.

Silvery nanites glittered within the dark paste. Light glinted off them as they shifted, seeking out the damaged places and beginning to mend them. That would sting too, Megatron knew, and Starscream gave a feeble trill of protest, but soon stilled again.

Megatron smirked down at him, reaching for the second cloth. Starscream’s aft and legs were still smeared with energon, and the quicksilver mixture of their combined fluids stained the insides of his thighs.

Chuckling to himself, he added another dash of the cleanser to the water, now bluish and faintly glowing with the energon from Starscream’s wounds. He dipped the cloth into it and brought it to a scratch he’d left across Starscream’s aft.

The Seeker yelped, startled out of his reverie by the burn of the astringent on his aft. He muttered a curse as his hips arched, instinct driving his movements toward Megatron rather than away.

His writhing looked almost like an invitation, and Megatron felt his spent spike twitch again, crackling energy sparking through his circuits. He leaned closer, rubbing the cloth over the plating of Starscream’s aft, less to cleanse and more to touch. Starscream wriggled, his vocalizer crackling with a wordless, staticky sound.

“You’re exhausted,” Megatron chided, unsure whether he was reminding Starscream or himself.

Starscream snickered and tilted his hips again. "And?"

"And this." Megatron's free claw locked around Starscream’s hips, holding them in place.

He moistened the cloth again and wiped at the wounds. Unable to move, Starscream quivered, torn between pulling away from the bitter burn of the cleanser and eagerness for more of it.

Megatron loosened his grip. Unable to resist, he touched the tips of his claws to the now pristine plating, teasing Starscream with an exaggeratedly gentle reminder of what they could do -- and had done shortly before. His own cooling fans roared, then sputtered as he forced himself to draw away.

“Turn around,” he rasped, his voice tight.

Starscream complied, muttering as his wings moved, then spitting a curse at the pressure of his own weight on the sensitized and dented metal. He glared up at Megatron with wide optics, shocked into alertness by the pain. Then he shook his head, arching his neck; Megatron could see the jagged edges of cabling his fangs had bitten through, electricity sparking over the energon-stained wound. He licked his lip plates, his frame rumbling in a deep purr at the memory.

That wasn't all, of course. Starscream's chest plate hung loose on its mounts; Megatron had peeled it open to get to Starscream's spark earlier in the evening, his claws wrapping around it in a teasing embrace. It was one of their favorite games, the razor-sharp tips of Megatron's talons hovering just at the edge of the tight-packed orb of energy.

One false move -- from either of them -- and Megatron's claws would pierce the source of Starscream's life itself.

But that little game was over now, Starscream's chest plate once again protecting the treasure. Energon stained its surface, a glowing smear of blue dripping from a gash Megatron had torn in it.

And then of course there was Starscream's valve, its cover long forgotten, discarded somewhere on the floor below the berth. It gaped open, wide and dark, dents and scratches scuffing the rim. Fluids dripped from the opening, tinged the faint blue of Starscream's energon.

The cloth in his hand forgotten, Megatron leaned down to bury his face in the wound at Starscream's neck, lapping at the energon smeared there as sparks crackled against his faceplates.

Starscream gave a weak squawk of surprise. Then his neck arched, offering better access, as his cry trailed off in a staticky murmur.

His claws wrapped around the broad surface of Megatron's back. Exhaustion made them shake, but he curled his claws inward anyway, their tips pressing into the seams between the thick plates of Megatron's armor.

Even half-offline and spent, Starscream was a weapon. Megatron grinned against his neck at the reminder.

But pleasant as this was, Starscream was still injured. With a growl of regret, Megatron drew his head away, his scarred mouthplates smeared blue with Starscream's gore.

The claws at his back bit deeper, perhaps in anger at the loss, perhaps in an instinctive attempt to pull Megatron closer.

"Let go, fool," Megatron rumbled. "I haven’t cleaned the front of your wings yet, and that wound on your chest plate needs tending."

Starscream hissed a curse, but the trembling claws withdrew.

Megatron laid the soiled cloth down. He added another dash of cleanser to the water and dipped the last clean cloth into it.

Much like before, Starscream yelped at the bite of the astringent on his wings. By now, he’d had some time to grow used to its sting -- but wings were the most sensitive parts of a Seeker, almost as responsive as the clusters of sensors around and within his spike and valve. He cycled air in a low hiss, and snarling clicks came from his vocalizer in a stream of half-formed curses.

But for all that, his wing shook under Megatron’s hand, fluttering against the cloth, wanting more of the fabric’s alien, soft touch.

Chuckling, Megatron drew it away again.

His free claw grabbed at Starscream's chest plate, pushing it back into its proper position until it locked into place with a sharp click.

"Don't force it!" Starscream snarled, but the optics glaring up at Megatron were dim and the voice was reedy with static. Satisfied that Starscream's chest plate was properly closed, Megatron ignored him.

The warlord's heavy hand caught and held one of Starscream's shoulders, holding the smaller mech in place as he leaned down to clean the wound.

Starscream threw back his head and shrieked as the cloth touched the jagged edge of the wound. He coughed, spitting a spray of glittering sparks as his vocalizer finally gave out.

A flare of heat curled through Megatron's systems at that. He felt his spike stir again and snickered. Starscream stared accusingly, his optics flickering, as Megatron set about cleaning the wound. He thrashed feebly in Megatron's grip, his energy fading, and then stilled. Megatron could hear the faint rhythm of his fans. He was awake, but only barely, and would need to rest and heal soon.

Megatron released him, picking up the tube of nanite gel and squeezing it directly onto the wound. He rubbed it in, feeling the nanites begin to move even as he smeared it over the cut. Exhausted beyond pain, Starscream murmured with relief as their repairs began.

Smiling wryly, Megatron stared down at him. His frame was cleaner now, most of the energon wiped off, the larger wounds coated in the black repairing gel. Starscream's optics still glowed dim, his head tilted, his lip plates curled in a secret little smile.

All that remained was his valve, scuffed and scratched from heavy use, fluids smeared over the still-dripping opening. With another soft chuckle, Megatron swiped the cloth over the valve's rim, wiping away the sticky mess, then circling the scratched surface of the rim with slow, deliberate precision.

Starscream tilted his hips weakly, pressing his valve's rim against the cloth. Megatron opened his mouth to speak, a biting remark on the tip of his tongue. But as he watched, Starscream's optics flickered again. He moved the cloth away and Starscream stirred, curling around himself again as his optics dimmed to the dark ruby of recharge.

"Idiot," Megatron muttered, closing the tube of gel and setting it down.

He could shake Starscream awake and order him out, but he surely wouldn't get far if he'd slipped into idling already. He could carry him to the medbay and leave him there, but his own simple repairs would suffice. He could simply dump Starscream outside the door; his warriors had seen him leave Starscream after a beating often enough that they knew perfectly well what to do with him.

Any one of those was a safer option than leaving Srarscream here. A recharging Starscream was a peaceful Starscream, but even with a few healing wounds Starscream would awaken clever and cunning as always. Fresh promises of loyalty or no, Megatron recharging beside him would prove an easy target.

But looking as Starscream now, curled up on his berth, his frame crisscrossed with the marks his claws had left, he suddenly found the thought of moving Starscream far more irritating than it should have been.

"I suppose I'll simply have to make sure I come out of recharge first, then," he muttered, lying down and wrapping his arms tightly around the Seeker's slender frame.

 


End file.
